Bark

Standing up to the
bully
is never more
satisfying
than when my back
is straight,
and supported by a
spine
that's finally grown in.

Afraid of a little woman,
a dog,
simply with a bigger bark
than a bite,
and a sickly man, who
just likes
to be overly eloquent.
I laugh when I remember
the resources
of heaven are much mightier
than men.

No longer down and out,
but up and fighting.

Thomas

With the utmost contrition
I endeavour to speak into
a deep silence that acts as
a punishment all on its own.
Innocence and naivety are
no longer viable excuses
for my lack of faith, I am
Peter on the lake, I am
Thomas holding Your hands, I am
Judas, leaving supper early, I am
not worthy of your patient
understanding, and much too
wayward to ask You to walk
with me, but You still choose
to. You still choose me.
And I consider asking you
why you cling to a broken
child such as me, but I'm
too scared you'll change your
mind, so I finally open my
mouth, and speak loud and
clear: Thank You.

Macbeth

If you could stop
rolling over for a
minute you would
see that your name
has been thrown
overtop of sins
done by those you
thought the world
of, but now that
you're absent from
such a world, hell
has decided to reign.

I stand beside six feet
of rust-coloured dirt
hoping that joining
your realm would
stop the anarchy,
caused by babes of
your making, weaned
and raised by your
hands, days from
the grave but still
using pacifiers to
help them sleep at
night--they destroy.

I wonder if you knew,
and chose ignorance,
or if you were ignorant
and never knew.

Not always, and most times it's exaggerated, but yeah. 

Tank

Her eyes swell up like
a broken limb, filled to
the brim with tears as hot
as boiling water, and it's
as if she hasn't cried in
years, and knowing her,
it very well maybe be the
case.

She shoots me a glance
in the hopes of striking
me dead, but I give her
a look of pity and regard,
extinguishing her hatred.
I remark on how similar she
looks to her father, nearly
identical.

Her sobs grow silent
and her eyes stare blankly,
she doesn't move her head,
doesn't dare crane her neck
to see me reach around,
for a tissue from the second pew
to desperately catch the
tears.

We've come for a funeral,
but I don't cry for the dead.

Leper

Choking on the sadness
that grips my throat and
shoots tears from my eyes
like water guns in the hands
of little children, used to
cool off in mid summer,
I'm exhausted from trying
to understand what made
you disinterested, distant,
simply polite and absent,
it's as if I was charmed
for just a short while, and
you were under my spell
until it wore off, leaving me
hopeless and alone, while
you stepped back to question
what had possessed you to
see anything but pity in me.
So I go mad under this jar,
stewing in all my confused
hope, bathing in all this
unrequited affection, just
aching for a way to be rid
of everything that makes me
remember the faces that I
likely won't see again.

I must have leprosy or something,
because no one sticks around.

Cold Hands

I'm too busy
to chase
too proud to
stoop to
that sort of
desperation
so I am
too busy to
over-think.

I refuse.

So I'll Say Three

I can see you, 

dark room, lit up 

by the white light 

of your screen, 

typing in my first 

name an having the 

rest filled in 

for you. 

You come here often. 

No one knows, 

that you still look 

me up, to relive our 

old stories, old injuries, 

like some masochistic 

therapy, that no one 

will understand 

but you. 

Though I don't wish 

to say more than two 

words to you, please, 

let go. 

Please let go. 

Myocardium

Signals shot,
silenced by frayed
wires, connected to
your ventricles,
and haphazardly
stuck to mine. I
need a boost.

Not simply a jolt,
but an awakening,
to be enlivened again,
so you switch to
the defibrillator,
in the hopes that
I won't give up entirely.

I think we could
avoid all of this
frantic first aid,
if you would just
choose me.
Keeping me half-alive
is torturous.

Wrong

And it took me a while to realize

that nothing about our love was
special, nothing about it was
profound, nothing about it was
uncommon. And shortly after
such a revelation was my attempt
to disprove it, to somehow find
the magic ingredient in "us" that
no one else possessed, because
I used our rare love as an excuse
for all my mistakes. My sins and
my backsliding, my disregard
for the truth, my blindness to all
of your dangerous faults. I thought
we were something no one had
ever been. That we were lovely
and wild, so delicate and passionate.
But we weren't any of those things.

We were simply wrong.

The rarest love I will feel will be
the one I take to my grave, but
our love could barely outlive the
winter cold, let alone the next 60
years.

Peat

Bottom feeder
nibbling at the
corners, you are
the painfully sad
on-looker, who
wants what doesn't
belong to her.

You always have been,
one who loves worthy men
silently, without giving
yourself away, but you
never quite close,
never quite win,
and never quite
learn. I hope this
time you do.

Because his eyes aren't for you,
no matter what you try.

6.5

And I wait for
seven
seven
seven
after six comes
seven
but I feel stalled
on the side of
the road,
infront of your house
seven
steps from the door
waiting for
seven
but only half
way from six,
longing for
the end of
the limbo,
towards
seven.

I miss how you used to
speak without reservation.

North Sidney

Her guilt jumps up
in her throat like a
frog,
in a pond covered in
lily-pads,
as she scans her screen,
picks out my name,
and hits
"delete".

I know it's what she
does to keep her head
up,
in the clouds,
safe,
from her old mistakes,
her old responsibilities
and I've run out of
blame.

It's all been replaced
with a distasteful amount of pity.